


Everything Lost Will Find

by ailurish



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, M/M, Trans Gavin Reed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 17:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17248712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ailurish/pseuds/ailurish
Summary: All Gavin wants for Christmas is a goddamn cigarette.Written for TransConnorDetroit for the 2018 Convin Secret Santa. The prompt was: Trans Gavin taking Connor to a very awkward/charged Christmas at his family's house. Gavin and Elijah are brothers. Another prompt involved cuddling, which doesn't... explicitly happen... but there is fluff!Title from Sufjan Stevens'Only at Christmas Time





	Everything Lost Will Find

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TransConnorDetroit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransConnorDetroit/gifts).



> Here is my Convin Secret Santa piece, posted just under the deadline (in my country). This is my first work for DBH fandom and my first finished piece in many years, so a big thanks to the mods who put this exchange together! 
> 
> Jim, I sincerely hope you like this! I only meant to write a couple thousand words but can't do anything by halves. This is based on my own holiday experience of feeling like an outsider at my family gathering, followed by feeling warm and welcome with friends later. Sorry this overshot Christmas, but I hope you had a good one and I hope you enjoy. I had a ton of fun writing it. Also, I hope you like Chloe, because she snuck in here too.

“Just one?”

“No.”

“ _Fuck_.” Gavin slams his palms against the steering wheel. He ducks his head and scowls through the windshield at the house before them. “One fucking cigarette is not going to kill me.”

“Smoking during times of stress reinforces habit, and statistically - “

Gavin cuts off Connor’s rebuke by exiting the car. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters under his breath, then slams the car door shut. Connor exits as well and they walk together up to the porch. There is no need to monitor the detective’s stress levels, as visual signs combined with past data are enough to inform him: jaw tight, hands fisted into the pockets of his jacket, slight hunch of shoulders. He removes one hand from his pocket to rap his knuckles against the door.

They wait in silence for a few moments, agitation clear in Gavin’s body language. Connor picks up on the sounds of movement from within the house, but Gavin does not, and raises his fist to pound against the door. Connor catches it; Gavin attempts to free his wrist from Connor’s grasp but fails, turning to glare at him.

“Be patient,” Connor explains, which irritates Gavin further.

“What the hell is your prob - “

The door opens, Elijah Kamski framed in the doorway. Gavin freezes with his mouth open. Connor loosens his fingers and Gavin twists his wrist away; he can feel the skin of his knuckles, dry and split by nights spent working in the winter air.

“Seems you two are getting along,” Kamski says in his dry, amused way. Over his shoulder, Connor can see Chloe approach from the hallway.

“Oh, Elijah, you should have let me - Connor!”

Chloe slips easily past Kamski to fling her arms around Connor’s neck, grinning infectiously.

“Chloe, hi,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. Deviating, for Chloe, was more like blossoming than an awakening. “How are you?”

She steps out of the hug and holds out her arm in invitation. Connor clasps her forearm without hesitation. Data transfer with Chloe is always a treat, although somewhat overwhelming. Connor restricts his information - a case from last month he thinks she might find interesting, which she does; a short video of Hank tripping over the couch to rescue a glove from Sumo’s mouth; Gavin’s agitation this morning. He feels that Gavin’s thoughts on this evening aren’t much of a secret, but is careful to keep private information out of the transfer. It should take only seconds, but with Chloe, the time tends to stretch out into ten or fifteen or twenty, as it takes longer to process. She shares her arrival here with Kamski, the latter being secreted away to a meeting with his mother almost immediately. And simultaneously, Connor receives data from Chloe at Kamski’s residence. Reading a book in front of the wide windows. Choosing an outfit for Markus’s planned gathering this evening. Wandering the empty halls, humming a song Connor doesn’t recognize. And others, too, in stasis. These moments are unnecessary to the information Chloe wants to share with him, but impossible to parse. She is all of these units at once, the original here at Kamski’s side and the ancillaries relaxing at home. It’s not programming that Connor is equipped to fully process, and he must break the connection at the sign of the first error.

“ - freaky mind meld thing!”

“It would be a waste of time to explain.”

“I wasn’t asking for a fucking answer.”

“Your insecurity is unbecoming, Gavin.”

“ _Elijah_ ,” Chloe cuts in, “don’t antagonize your brother, please.”

This quiets them both. Gavin’s arms are crossed in front of his chest, tension now in his shoulders.

“We apologize for the interruption,” Connor says, addressing Kamski. He waves a hand absently. Behind him, Connor can see past the foyer to a doorway into what might be the kitchen, bustling with people likely gathered around food or spirits. With the commotion, it’s a wonder that anyone heard Gavin knock on the door at all, yet somehow Kamski was the first one at the door. Not even Chloe knew they were here. He must have been waiting near the windows and seen Gavin’s car. Connor glances again at the tense set of Gavin’s jaw and decides to keep this information to himself.

“It’s a damn family reunion,” Gavin mutters. “Ed here?”

“Yes,” Kamski replies. “With Erin.”

“Well that’s fucking perfect.”

“Mother is going to want to speak to you privately. Fair warning.”

Gavin scrubs a hand over his face and sends a long-suffering look Connor’s way. He meets the look with sympathy.

“The kitchen is rather busy,” Chloe says, “Gavin, can I get you a drink?”

“Chloe,” Kamski says pointedly.

“ _Eli_ ,” she parrots, standing on her bare toes to press a kiss to his cheek, “I would _like_ to get a drink for your brother. Gavin?”

“Uh. Gin. Tiny bit of tonic, thanks.” Gavin wears an expression that Connor is used to seeing in the field with witnesses. Polite. Charming. _Only_ you _would find him charming,_ Hank has said, but Connor disagrees.

“Similar tastes,” Chloe remarks, nudging Kamski with her elbow before turning to glide into the kitchen with a cheery, “I’ll be right back!”

The three of them stand quietly in the entry hall.

“Well this is awkward as fuck,” Gavin announces, then turns and walks heavily into the front sitting room. “But I’m not going anywhere near the damn kitchen.”

Connor follows and sits beside him on the couch.

“How long till mom notices I’m here?”

“Chloe has already let her know,” Kamski says. He’s still standing by the door, glancing into the kitchen as if waiting for the android’s return.

“And I thought I was bad,” Gavin mutters to Connor.

“Bad?”

“Look at him. Too important or whatever to join society.”

“Oh? So what’s the reason we’re in here and not socializing with your family?”

“You’re such an asshole.”

Chloe finds them easily, emerging from a door that connects the back of the kitchen to the sitting room. She hands off Gavin’s drink with a polite smile. “I’ve been asked to tell you to wait here for your mother,” she says, then swiftly collects Kamski from the front door, accompanying him back into the busy throng of family members.

It’s quiet. Gavin takes a long drink.

“So who is Ed?”

“Fucking Ed. My father’s brother. Hates any hint of queerness, the righteous prick. He also thinks aliens from outer space gave androids sentience, so clearly intelligence skipped him over in favor of bigotry.”

“Ah.” Maybe asking about Ed was not the best distraction. Connor is eager to enter the kitchen and learn what he can from facial recognition, but he’ll wait until Gavin feels comfortable. “Aren’t you on good terms with your mother?” he tries.

“Yeah.” He sounds surprised at his own admission. Gavin swirls the ice in his glass, takes another drink. “She’s gonna cry, though, ‘s probably why she wants to see me alone. Cried all over me back in April.”

Connor thinks back to April. Gavin had been more nervous than Connor had ever seen him. Granted, at the time, admittance and acceptance of their relationship as emotional in addition to physical was relatively new. It was the first time Gavin had seen his mother in nearly two decades, which is a span of time that Connor can’t realistically comprehend. And as he understands it, the person Gwendolyn Kamski had last seen didn’t resemble who Gavin really is. Still, the meeting had gone well, and he had returned that evening more relaxed than when he had left. Different in a way that Connor can’t quantify.

 _“It actually fucking went the way I hoped it would,”_ Gavin had said, looking at Connor then with bright eyes. _“That’s two for two this year. Pinch me.”_

‘Pinch’ does not describe what Connor had actually done.

“What’re you smiling at? Weird fucking robot,” Gavin says now. Connor rolls his eyes.

As Gavin sips at his drink, Connor looks over the room with curiosity. Gavin had complained about the house at length on the drive over, likely to expel some of his anxiety. Apparently he had grown up here, but at the present moment he’s sitting stiffly on the couch, uncomfortable in a familiar environment. The furniture is leather and heavy wood, paneled walls adorned with framed art and decorated for the holiday. A Christmas tree sits in the far corner, fake, glittering with silver and gold ornaments.

“This is not the decoration I would expect from a family home,” he remarks idly.

“Connor, you see too much of the shithole of a city. Fuckin’ downtown is falling has been falling apart for decades. And anyway, this place is like,” he gestures around with the hand holding his drink, “what’s the phrase? Lipstick on a pig.”

“I don’t follow.”

“House didn’t look like this when I was a kid. It had, like, shitty carpet and peeling wallpaper and it’s not like my old man ever cared about fixing it. Not when he had to pay for Eli’s precious education. An’ now that Elijah has more money than god they practically gutted the place and put in, I dunno, fancy shit? This couch probably costs more than my whole fucking salary.” He looks down at the coffee table and, after a moment’s contemplation, sets the heels of his boots on its sleek surface.

The kitchen door opens and Gavin’s mother steps into the room, holding a glass of wine. She smiles warmly. “Oh, just look. My baby, here on Christmas Eve after all these years.”

“Surprise,” Gavin says blandly, although his presence had not been a surprise.

Gwendolyn Kamski’s gaze skips over Gavin and lands on Connor. He stands. “Hello, Mrs. Kamski. My name is Connor. Thank you for your hospitality.”

She doesn’t move towards him or offer a hand, but she does smile and nod. “Connor, make yourself at home. Would you mind if I spoke with Gavin alone for a minute?”

Gavin stands at this indirect invitation. “Yeah, Connor, make yourself at home,” he echoes, trying for a wink. Connor narrowly resists the urge to roll his eyes again.

“No problem. It was nice to meet you,” he says instead, offering another polite smile before he leaves them behind in the sitting room.

He’s still curious about the people milling about in the kitchen, but social protocol indicates that he shouldn’t enter without Gavin. He walks through the foyer and into the room to the right, which turns out to be a dining room. There are large, floor-to-ceiling windows reminiscent of Kamski’s home, and this room appears a mix of his personal aesthetic and Gwendolyn’s propensity for dark wood and mid-century decor. An alcove near the front of the house holds books, art pieces, and a number of framed photos. Connor steps over to them, curious.

Most of them seem to be recent, photos of Gavin’s mother **[KAMSKI, GWENDOLYN REED, Born 08/07/1977, Lives 10S452 Sefton Rd. Detroit]** and some unrelated people - friends, maybe, taken in front of scenic landscapes. Others are of Kamski, many of the photos taken from various publications. These are uninteresting, but a small side table displays photos taken by low-resolution digital cameras, printed inexpertly on glossy photo paper. It’s more difficult to access information from older photos, relying on his current facial recognition database without access to metadata. Connor doesn’t need any of this, of course, to recognize Gavin. An initial glance at the photo is reminiscent of Kamski - Gavin, features younger and softer, wears short hair gathered into a small ponytail and a frown. He’s wearing a canvas jacket with some long, dark garment draped over his arm. Connor runs a quick scan to ascertain the date of the photo: **[Subj: unknown. Date: 06/06/2020].** Likely his high school graduation, then.

The photo beside it was professionally taken at an initiation ceremony at Detroit Police Academy, which Connor doesn’t need a scan to prove thanks to a watermark at the bottom right corner. Gavin is wearing an officer’s uniform and a stoic expression. Clean-shaven, sharper features, hair close-cropped as required by the Academy. He looks more relaxed, young and handsome, and Connor finds himself cataloging the photo for his own reference.

Set further behind the framed photos of her children, Gwendolyn has set out a few casual candids. Gavin is absent from them. One photo catches Connor’s eye, the setting unusual: possibly a camp of some sort, two small children in the foreground and an adult figure in the background. Connor runs a scan: **[KAMSKI, ERIC, Born 06/29/1974, Lives 16 Maple Cir. Midland, MI]; [Subj: unknown]; [Subj: unknown].** The children too young and the photo too old to accurately identify them. Logic infers that the children are Elijah and Gavin: the former is leaning to the side, propped up on his arm because the latter has a hand on his shoulder. The photo must have been taken moments after a squabble of some sort. Their expressions are hard to read, but young Elijah doesn’t seem terribly upset. In the photo, young Gavin’s face is in profile, further hidden behind a fall of chin-length hair.

Connor notices someone in his proximit and moments later hears a low chuckle. Elijah himself is peering around Connor’s shoulder at the photo. “That was an interesting weekend. I believe that shove was punishment for dropping marshmallows into the fire.” He regards Connor for a moment, eyes flickering to his LED. “We never did get along very well. Never tried to, either.”

“Gavin says you were unapproachable.”

Elijah nods. “He would say that. He’s probably right.”

“Hey.” They both turn to look as Gavin enters the room, drink in hand. “Talkin’ about me?”

“Do you remember that camping trip?”

Gavin winces. “Unfortunately.” He approaches the table, leaning over to peer at the photo. “Family bonding! What a great fuckin’ idea. You read books the whole time. Got tired of my whining about s’mores and threw all the marshmallows _and_ chocolate into the fire. Jesus, you were a shithead. We were what. Ten?”

“Mmm,” Kamski affirms. “A simpler time.”

“Simpler, the fuck? Maybe for you. Con, why are you in here snooping?” He doesn’t sound particularly upset.

“I didn’t think I should mingle without you,” he explains.

“So? Did Mom cry?” Kamski asks.

“‘Course. But don’t worry, she’ll replace all that lost water with wine.”

“Chloe is monitoring her intake.”

“You ever let her make her own decisions?”

“Please, spare me the irony of this lecture. I have more important business to attend.” Elijah returns to the kitchen as quietly as he’d come.

“Business?” Gavin asks.

“I think that was an excuse to leave. He’s curious about us,” Connor surmises. “but he won’t intrude. You shouldn’t worry about Chloe, by the way.”

“I don’t. Just wanna piss him off.” Gavin scans the photo display silently. “She wants to pretend that bad things don’t happen.”

Connor feels the familiar skip of his LED processing the non-linear flow of conversation, normal when it comes to Gavin’s conversation patterns. “Your mother?” he affirms. Gavin nods, bringing the glass to his lips.

“We really should greet your extended family.”

Gavin sighs and turns back towards the kitchen. Sounds of laughter and conversation weave their way around the walls of the house. Gavin’s overall stress level has diminished since they arrived, but he’s still tense. “Guess I don’t gotta tell you how much fun it is to walk into a room of people who disapprove of your existence.”

“Some might. Some might not. And - Gavin.” Connor sets his fingers against Gavin’s jawline, presses so that they’re face to face. “Sometimes, people change.”

“Well shit. Yeah.” A smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and Gavin leans up to press their mouths together. Connor detects juniper, quinine, the barest hint of lime. “Okay.” Gavin swills the last if his drink and sets the empty glass heavily on the photo table. “Fuck ‘em.”

He stalks into the kitchen, and Connor follows.

 

* * *

 

 

“And so Gavin is your partner?”

Human relationships can be confusing. Connor falls back on context. “No.”

“No?”

Maybe that wasn’t the correct choice. An explanation might be better here, despite the fact that his speech patterns sometimes remind humans uncomfortably that he is an android. Gavin’s _fuck ‘em_ comes to mind. “If we are still discussing my occupation, then no, Gavin is not my partner. My partner is Lieutenant Hank Anderson, although our work often crosses with Gavin’s if android crime is involved in homicide. However, I believe you may have heard we are partners in a romantic sense, in which case, yes, Gavin and I are partners in a monogamous relationship.”

“Oh,” says the small woman in front of him. “Did you say homicide?”

Connor blinks. “Yes.”

The room is full. Although the kitchen is roughly half the size of Gavin’s entire apartment, the rest of the house could fit the number of people more comfortably. But humans like to gather around food, and there’s a small bar at the far end of the kitchen, so the gathering is contained here. Connor politely refrains from scanning anyone until they’ve introduced themselves, and the body of information about Gavin’s family is slowly growing. Gavin himself is not nearby to introduce anyone, which is a shame, because Connor finds that he’d like to know what sort of acrid commentary Gavin would make. The woman in front of him is joined by another - cousins on Gavin’s mother’s side - and he carefully explains that information about work is confidential, and no, he can’t describe his “most exciting” homicide case.

Connor takes a sip from the Thirium-bright drink in his hand. Shortly after entering the kitchen, Chloe had flitted close to them and handed them both drinks; another cocktail for Gavin, and this one for himself. It’s unnecessary - watered down Thirium, which he has no need of replenishing at the moment, with a slight tang of copper. Still, Connor finds having the distraction a comfort.

He glances across the room to Gavin, the conversation in front of him having turned to a discussion about some true crime television series that Connor has no point of reference for. Nobody had paid much attention to them at all when they entered. None of Gavin’s fear about insults or fights or long awkward silences had come to fruition. Rather than stand silently against the wall, Gavin had decided to make himself useful and was now helping prepare the Christmas dinner. Having work to do always helps to funnel his negative energies into manageable levels.

Chloe, who is having fun attending to the drinks bar, cornering everyone who approaches into conversation, pings to open a connection. He accepts.

{Connor. I have a message from Markus.}

Markus is too far away to connect with him directly, but one of Chloe’s ancillaries must be nearby.

{Proceed.}

{He says he hopes you’re well, and reminds you that you’re welcome at New Jericho’s holiday gathering.}

{Thank you both, please tell him I’ll keep it in mind.}

He meets her eye across the room and she smiles. Christmas and its religious background have no bearing on android culture, but androids now benefit from paid time off and holiday leave. Markus, busy with myriad aspects of android rights and freedom, likes to use the holiday as an opportunity for his people to socialize among themselves; to take a moment of time to exercise their own freedoms.

“Oh fuck off, Ed.” Gavin’s voice cuts into some of the conversation around him. Connor doesn’t hear Ed’s response, nor his initial comment, but luckily Gavin is moving through the room instead of stopping to argue. His has a wooden box in his arms piled atop with cotton napkins, and makes a beeline for where Connor is still standing near the door to the dining room. “Guy’s such asshole,” he says by way of greeting. “Mom is making me set the silverware. Who the fuck needs three forks in the same goddamn meal?”

Dinner is a loud, uneventful affair. There are place settings for Connor and Chloe, but their dinnerware sits empty and they both end up fielding conversation about why they can’t eat. Kamski’s responses are short and cryptic, but Chloe’s bright commentary fills in the gaps.

Gavin often comments on Connor’s awkwardness, and as such, he’s spent some focus on those situations; on what he says and does that makes it so. Usually it’s because he doesn't understand a turn of phrase, or a cultural reference, or because he takes an idiom literally. But now he senses something else. It’s the way the four of them - Connor and Gavin, Chloe and Kamski - seem like outsiders even when the conversation is focused on one of them. The family members rarely make eye contact, and when they do, there is a forced politeness, or an impolite interest. Although it is possible that this is a perceived awkwardness. Connor only knows those three other people well, and so is made more aware of them, while everyone else is a stranger. His model’s social programming makes it so that Connor feels the need to keep relationships hovering in the neutral range, yet he feels distant.

He wonders if Chloe senses the same, or if she is as comfortable as she seems. After dinner, when the group disperses from the table but lingers moreso in the dining room than the kitchen, Connor seeks her out. It’s during this conversation that some of the tension Gavin has been keeping in check all day finally breaks.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, _Elijah,_ you’re the one who fucked off to nowhere,” comes his voice, loud enough to cause a temporary hush on the noise of the party.

“Uh-oh,” Chloe says, voice troubled for the first time all night. “Just a moment, Connor.”

Connor watches her slip through the crowd to approach Kamski’s side; watches him hold her at bay with an outstretched arm as he tells Gavin to “stop trying to make an embarrassment of yourself in front of all these people.”

“The only thing that’s embarrassing here is _you_ trying to _buy_ forgiveness. You think throwing money at your problems is any better ‘n hiding from them?”

Gwendolyn makes her way into the dining room from the kitchen, mouth drawn in a tight line, and Connor starts moving. He has to get them out of here before she becomes drawn into their fight. In his distraction, he misses Kamski’s reply, but doesn’t miss the angry hiss in Gavin’s voice as he says “ _Fuck_ you, you were in _no_ danger.”

He reaches them a moment later and grasps Gavin’s shoulder. Gavin twists out of the way instantly, muttering curses, but Connor had anticipated this and pins both arms to his sides. “Gavin, you need to take this into privacy,” he says, steering him towards the sitting room.

“Goddamnit,” Gavin mutters, twisting free but continuing in the direction Conner had been taking him. Kamski, whose anger is confined to a light in his eyes and fingertips pressed white to the strained glass of the cocktail he’d been drinking, shoves it into Chloe’s hand and follows. The two androids make eye contact. The conversation in the dining room slowly returns to normal; thankfully, most people had wandered towards where the desserts were laid out in the kitchen rather than watch the display.

{What do you think?} Chloe asks. {Is this a good thing, or a bad thing?}

{In my experience, it’s better for Gavin to let his emotions out than to keep them in.}

Chloe nods sagely. {Emotion is strangely personal, isn’t it?}

{Yes. I apologize if this interrupts your night.}

{If a little thing like this is enough to ruin my night, would you think I’d have chosen to stay with Elijah Kamski?} She grins and, holding Connor’s gaze, takes a pointed sip of Kamski’s drink.

He tilts his head. {Maybe I should review our  dinner conversation about android consumption upgrades.} Chloe laughs.

The sound of raised voices from the other room dies down quickly. Now that Gavin is out of sight, there’s no need for his anger to become a performance. Connor waits ten minutes after he can no longer hear them arguing before he approaches the back door of the kitchen, the one that leads to the sitting room. It’s dark now, lit only by the Christmas tree lights. When he looks he sees the two men standing beside the couch. Gavin’s back is facing Connor, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans, and his forehead is resting against Kamski’s shoulder. It’s difficult to make out the expression on Elijah’s face in the low light, but his hand is clapped to the back of his brother’s neck, and Connor feels like he’s intruding. He retreats, closing the door before the flood of light from the kitchen can disturb them, smiling with content.

It’s not much longer before the two of them drift back into the crowd. Gavin makes a beeline for Connor, looking relaxed for the first time all night. “Hey, do you know where- have you seen -”

“She’s seeing some guests out the front door,” Connor supplies, and Gavin leaves to presumably apologize to his mother.

Chloe and Elijah leave shortly after, citing business again, and Connor promises to stop by Markus’s gathering later. There’s some gift giving tradition that happens next, but he and Gavin hadn’t brought anything along, so they stand in the back and Gavin finally points out all the family members he can recognize, Connor filling in the mission information about what friends and colleagues of Gwendolyn’s that he can scan. Gavin had switched to beer after the fight, but doesn’t fail to notice when Connor slips his keys out of the front pocket of his jacket. “Good idea, let’s get the hell out of here,” he says, pushing off the wall to go and say his goodbyes. His mother actually hugs Connor when they leave.

They drive in silence. Connor directs heat to the passenger side of the car, and Gavin dozes on and off under the influence of warmth and alcohol and a release of the anxiety that had plagued him for days.

“That went well, don’t you think?” Connor says into the silence. Gavin stirs, snorts.

“Yeah, I guess. I even managed not to haul off on Ed for that comment he made.”

“Which comment?”

“You didn’t hear, and I’ll never tell.”

His speech isn’t slurred, but coordination is off enough that Gavin uses it as an excuse to lean into Connor as they ride the elevator up to his apartment.

“You should stay,” he says, pulling Connor in by the lapels on his overcoat once they’re inside. A dark blur in the shape of a cat darts away from the tangle of their feet. Gavin bumps into the couch, lets go of Connor’s coat to steady himself with one hand and slide the fingers of the other into the hair at the nape of Connor’s neck. “You’re staying, right?”

He says no before indulging in the kiss that Gavin is clearly angling for. It lasts longer than it should if Connor is serious about leaving; is more heated than it should be; he shuffles _closer_ than he should... but his response finally catches up to Gavin, who pulls away, brow knitted and mouth swollen. “No?”

“No,” Connor repeats, ducking for one more kiss. “Sorry. For one, I want to stop by New Jericho, and for two, I promised Hank I would walk Sumo in the morning. Also, you’re drunk.”

“‘M not drunk.”

“Your breath alcohol concentration is at point zero nine. Legally, you are drunk.”

“What? I only had two beers.” He pauses. “Three beers. And some gin. Wait, did you fucking - did you take a fucking breath test just now?”

“Um -”

“Fuck, you did! Rude ass - “

“I can’t help it, the information is - “

“We were having a _moment_ , dude.” Connor’s mild panic at his unintentional intrusion of privacy fades away when he notices Gavin’s grin.

“Sorry,” he says anyway.

“Hey, y’know what? What Eli said ‘bout you?” He’s wearing a lurid expression that usually precedes a comment that’s either rude or vulgar. Or both.

“What?”

“He said your thingy,” Gavin draws a circle at the level of his temple, “your LED thingy goes all yellow when I’m not around.”

Connor has to admit that’s entirely possible. He had a lot to process, along with anxious energy in response to Gavin’s agitation. It’s not likely an emotional response. Maybe. He can’t be really sure. Gavin’s smile is on the softer edge of mocking, now.

“Shit,” Gavin says, pressing a thumb against Connor’s cheek. His internal temperature is elevated slightly. “You sure you can’t stay?”

Connor steps back. “Yes. Sorry.”

“Okay. Well. Have, uh, have fun.”

“I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Good. I’m gonna go pass out now. Frankie!” he calls for the cat, moving off in the still darkened apartment towards the small hall leading to the bedroom. “C’mon girl, we’re gonna pass out.”

Connor heads back out into the night to keep his promises.

 

* * *

 

 

He returns early after Sumo’s walk, the air crisp and the city itself hushed on Christmas morning. He, too, feels refreshed after a couple hours of stasis in Hank’s home. The Lieutenant is due to return by mid-morning, but Connor heads back across the city. He lets himself in, practiced at slipping inside quickly enough that the cat can’t get out the door. There’s a hush here, too. He removes his coat and shoes and sets down a gift package on the back of the couch, then heads down the narrow hall.

Gavin’s apartment is well lit by the morning sun, but the bedroom is dimmed by curtains. He finds Gavin asleep still, lying on his side with Frankie curled up behind the small of his back. Connor stands in the doorway, watching the slow, steady movements of their breathing. He could be content to do so for a while, eyes drifting over the curve shoulder to ribcage to hips, relaxed by the deep state of sleep that humans can achieve but he cannot. Unfortunately, his RCT keeps perfect time and the alarm on Gavin’s phone begins to sound. He stirs, reaching for it, then notices Connor and startles.

“ _Jesus_ ,” he grumbles, voice rough with sleep. “Were just you watching me like a creep?” Frankie stands and stretches as Gavin rolls onto his back. She steps gingerly onto his stomach, meowing. “I know you’re hungry, baby,” he tells her in a low voice, one hand over his eyes and the other stroking along Frankie’s back. “Five more minutes.”

Connor clicks his tongue softly and Frankie turns to him immediately, leaping gracefully to the floor. She turns her meows on Connor instead, wending between his feet. “Five more minutes,” Connor confirms.

Frankie rushes ahead into the kitchen, leaping onto the counter to watch Connor prepare her food. Her tail swishes lazily back and forth. _Dirty kitten paws,_ Connor thinks, the phrase supplied to him out of the memory of Gavin grousing at her every time she does this, not allowed on the counters but never reprimanded for it either. Once she’s back on the floor and busy with breakfast, Connor prepares the coffee machine. He listens to the sounds of Gavin getting out of bed in the other room, the curtains being drawn open, the machine sputtering. Gavin doesn’t appear in the kitchen after five minutes have passed, so Connor pours him a mug. On his way back to the bedroom, he pauses to pick up the wrapped gift package that he’d brought with him on his way back to the bedroom.

Gavin is sitting cross-legged on the bed, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He freezes when Connor appears in the doorway, trying to hide the box in his hand. “Hey,” he says, grinning with the cigarette between his teeth, caught.

“Gavin…”

“Look, c’mon, it’s Christmas.” The box opens with a faint crinkle and Gavin tips a lighter into his hand. Connor takes his moment of distraction to circle around the bed, setting the coffee on the bedside table and dropping the gift to the floor, unnoticed. “And I’m not stressed, or making harmful, uh, whatever.”

“Creating harmful associations between the desire to soothe anxiety and the desire for nicotine.”

“Yeah, that.”

“I wouldn’t presume to stop you in this case, then.”

“ _Wouldn’t presume,_ ” Gavin mocks, rolling his eyes. “You made coffee? Damn, it really is a Christmas miracle.”

“You’re welcome.”

Connor climbs on the bed as well. Gavin holds off on the cigarette to gulp at the coffee, face half hidden by the rim of the mug.

“How’d it go,” Gavin asks between sips.

“With Markus?”

“Yeah.”

“Well. It’s good to see him enjoy personal time.” Connor considers leaving it at that, basking in the soft glow of morning light and the comfort of even-keeled emotion. But he thinks about Gavin and Elijah’s tentative, truceful embrace and changes his mind. “I left before too many others arrived. I… do not feel comfortable around some of those who recognize my model’s intended purpose.”

Gavin nods. He tips his head back to get a last mouthful of coffee. “You know what? Next year, no Kamskis.”

“I thought it went well?”

“Sure, but I’ve had enough of that fucking house already. Next year, I’m goin’ to this android thing with you.”

“I... you would accompany me?”

“You went with me last night. You made small talk with my _Aunt Melody_ , I heard her ask you to clean up the table like ten times and you didn’t even bitch her out. Next year, I’m going with you, and Markus can deal with it, and everyone else can deal with it.” He lights the cigarette. Connor thinks he deserves much more than one cigarette.

“Okay. I’d like that.”

Now Connor enjoys the morning light. While Gavin smokes, he queries Chloe about how the rest of the night had gone, mind wandering back to yesterday once she’s finished filling him in.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

Gavin sighs out a stream of smoke. “Shoot.”

“Why did you take your mother’s name?” The question is similar to conversations they’ve had in the past, but Connor has learned that humans are more complex than his advanced programming could predict.

“Well hell, Con, I…”

Gavin brings his thumb to his temple with the hand still holding his cigarette, and Connor waits patiently for the end of the sentence. He waits until the end of the cigarette has burned approximately 1.8 centimeters of ash, threatening to fall onto the bedspread. A moment before Connor is about to speak again and absolve him from the need to answer the question, Gavin flicks the ash into the dregs of his coffee. “I wanted a fresh start.”

Their eyes meet. It feels mildly significant. “If that makes any sense,” Gavin adds, voice muffled as he brings his fingers to his lips and drags smoke from the stub of his cigarette, a momentary flare of bright red.

A fresh start. This is a human desire that Connor is familiar with: it makes him think of Hank, waking up with his alarm to make it to work on time. Of dawn rising on the first bright morning after the revolution. Of Captain Fowler’s hand extended so that Connor might accept his offer of an official position on the force. _A fresh start_. This had been, possibly, Connor’s _first_ human desire.

“You’re thinking too hard.” Gavin reaches over and taps at Connor’s LED, no doubt spinning a determined yellow. His finger rests there an extra moment or two.

“I understand,” Connor says, smiling. “You were becoming yourself.”

Gavin looks astonished. “Yeah. I guess. Yeah.”

Then Connor remembers the gift he’d brought, and reaches back over the edge of the bed to retrieve the little box from the floor.

“I brought a Christmas gift for you,” he explains, handing Gavin the box. “You should open it before we leave.”

“The fuck,” Gavin says, holding the box at eye level. “We agreed we weren’t doing this.” He sets it down and swings his legs off the bed, striding out of the room; the empty mug is disturbed and Connor scoops it up.

“I know,” Connor says simply.

“Wait there,” Gavin calls, voice coming from the living room. He’s striding back in already by the time Connor sets the mug safely on the side table. Gavin smacks a small, thin box to Connor’s chest as he climbs back on the bed. “Here.”

Connor considers sarcasm - not ‘doing this’ indeed - but can’t stop a smile. “Thank you, Gavin.”

“You haven’t opened it yet,” Gavin mutters, dour, but the tips of his ears are flushed.

Connor sets the package in his lap and waits expectantly for Gavin to open his own gift. The bow slips easily off the corners, delicate paper coming off at the same time, Gavin rushing through the process as if embarrassed at the presentation. Connor is not offended. Inside the box is a pair of soft brown leather gloves, neatly matching with the jacket Gavin wears.

“Woah,” Gavin says under his breath. He wastes no time in pulling one on. It fits perfectly, as it should. “Is this? Damn, are these..?”

“The tailor would have preferred to fit them in person, but it seems my measurements were exact. As expected.”

“That’s… that’s really nice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Connor says, pleased at the smile Gavin is trying to hide as he flexes his knuckles, testing the feel of leather on his palm.

“Shit, don’t open that,” he says suddenly, setting the gloves down and reaching for the box he had given to Connor. Connor leans back and away, holding it out of reach. “I’m serious, tin can -”

Connor lifts the lid off the box, and Gavin gives up with a sigh. Tearing away a sticker atop tissue paper reveals a necktie. Connor scans it without thought - a blend of polyester and polyamide, a smooth deep navy dotted with subtle blue. “I didn’t pick it, the shop girl did,” Gavin mutters.

If he spoke to a shop employee, then he purchased it in person. Connor considers Gavin stepping into a menswear shop, looking no doubt self-conscious, as his own personal style is much more casual. The employee, potentially an android herself, must have directed him to a suitable selection. She would have helped him choose the style that would best suit Connor’s frame. In spite of their agreement not to exchange gifts, Gavin had chosen one.

“But you thought about me,” Connor says. He shifts the box to see the smooth blue shimmer.

“Yeah, well.” Gavin is not looking at him, eyes turned down and away, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth.

Hank had texted during their gift exchange, wanting to know if Connor had fed Sumo or not because the dog had begged him for food the moment he returned home from his parents’. Connor had indeed fed him, and laughs at the eye-roll emoji Hank sends in reply.

The first year after the revolution, Christmas had been an odd affair, the joy of the season overtaken by Detroit’s cleanup efforts and the flurry of social upheaval. Human tradition wasn’t of importance to Connor, but in the chaos of deviating and the strange world that followed, he’d been grateful for the time to rest. As for Hank, he had invited anyone to his home - anyone else who didn’t want to be alone on Christmas, he had said. More people had arrived than Hank expected, and they’d run out of food, and it had been a nice enough day to become tradition itself.

And Gavin had been there. Connor remembers that, and the surprise he’d felt, and how not even Hank had kicked him out.

Today, they head over early to help Hank with the food, of which there has always been more than enough after the disastrous first year. Other than a Christmas tree, Hank was pretty sparse on the decorations, which is just as well considering how many people end up packed in the small house. Most are from the precinct, just stopping by in the midst of their holiday plans, and Chris jokes that they should just install a revolving door next year. It’s loud and warm and so very removed from the atmosphere of last night’s dinner. By the time darkness has fallen and the desserts have been set out, the humans are all exhausted again, bellies full and already making plans for the DPD’s New Year’s party.

Connor stands at the back of the kitchen with Gavin. The room is empty save for Sumo, lying hopefully under the table, but the two of them have cleaned up the dishes and there’s only a few groups of people leftgathered in the living room, chatting. Connor leans against the sink, and Gavin leans against Connor’s side, and stifles a yawn on his shoulder.

“Hey. You know…” Gavin starts. Connor feels fingers press against his palm. He threads their fingers together, affection easy when everyone’s eyes are turned away.

“Hm?”

“I think… it’s good.”

“What is?”

“This. You. Today, yesterday. Me. For once, it’s actually good.”

Officer Person is standing at the door, putting her coat on. Hank leans out the front door, shouting his goodbye. The door closes, the cold winter air dispels. Hank sits back down on the couch and picks up whatever conversation he’d left off with.

“Good.” Connor echoes, thumb running across the back of Gavin’s hand.

“Yeah.” Gavin presses a kiss to his shoulder.

Good.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and Happy New Year! 
> 
> If you liked this, please leave a comment to let me know. Even a short note of thanks can brighten an author's whole day. It's that easy to make someone feel good!
> 
> I'm on twitter @hello_deer.


End file.
